1.
You may imagine that there is no more left to be described of the contents of
this mansion, but a great deal remains to be told, for as I said, it contains
favours of various degrees. I think there is nothing to add about the prayer of
union, but when the soul on which God bestows this grace disposes itself for
their reception, I could tell you much about the marvels our Lord works in it.
I will describe some of them in my own way, also the state in which they leave
the soul, and will use a suitable comparison to elucidate the matter,
explaining that though we can take no active part in this work of God within us,173 yet we may do much to prepare ourselves to
receive this grace. You have heard how wonderfully silk is made—in a way such
as God alone could plan—how it all comes from an egg resembling a tiny
pepper-corn. Not having seen it myself, I only know of it by hearsay, so if the
facts are inaccurate the fault will not be mine. When, in the warm weather, the
mulberry trees 130come
into leaf, the little egg which was lifeless before its food was ready, begins
to live. The caterpillar nourishes itself upon the mulberry leaves until, when
it has grown large, people place near it small twigs upon which, of its own
accord, it spins silk from its tiny mouth until it has made a narrow little
cocoon in which it buries itself. Then this large and ugly worm leaves the
cocoon as a lovely little white butterfly.
2.
If we had not seen this but had only heard of it as an old legend, who could
believe it? Could we persuade ourselves that insects so utterly without the use
of reason as a silkworm or a bee would work with such industry and skill in our
service that the poor little silkworm loses its life over the task? This would
suffice for a short meditation, sisters, without my adding more, for you may
learn from it the wonders and the wisdom of God. How if we knew the properties
of all things? It is most profitable to ponder over the grandeurs of creation
and to exult in being the brides of such a wise and mighty King.
3.
Let us return to our subject. The silkworm symbolizes the soul which begins to
live when, kindled by the Holy Spirit, it commences using the ordinary aids
given by God to all, and applies the remedies left by Him in His Church, such
as regular confession, religious hooks, and sermons; these are the cure for a
soul dead in its negligence and sins and liable to fall into temptation. Then
it comes to life and continues nourishing itself on this food and on devout
meditation until it has attained full vigour, which is the essential point, 131for
I attach no importance to the rest. When the silkworm is full-grown as I told
you in the first part of this chapter, it begins to spin silk and to build the
house wherein it must die. By this house, when speaking of the soul, I mean
Christ. I think I read or heard somewhere, either that our life is hid in
Christ, or in God (which means the same thing) or that Christ is our life.174 It makes little difference to my meaning
which of these quotations is correct.
4.
This shows, my daughters, how much, by God’s grace, we can do, by preparing
this home for ourselves, towards making Him our dwelling-place as He is in the
prayer of union. You will suppose that I mean we can take away from or add
something to God when I say that He is our home, and that we can make this home
and dwell in it by our own power. Indeed we can: though we can neither deprive
God of anything nor add aught to Him, yet we can take away from and add to
ourselves, like the silkworms. The little we can do will hardly have been
accomplished when this insignificant work of ours, which amounts to nothing at
all, will be united by God to His greatness and thus enhanced with such immense
value that our Lord Himself will be the reward of our toil. Although He has had
the greatest share in it, He will join our trifling pains to the bitter
sufferings He endured for us and make them one.
5.
Forward then, my daughters! hasten over your work and build the little cocoon.
Let us renounce 132self-love
and self-will,175 care for nothing earthly, do penance, pray,
mortify ourselves, be obedient, and perform all the other good works of which
you know. Act up to your light; you have been taught your duties. Die! die as
the silkworm does when it has fulfilled the office of its creation, and you
will see God and be immersed in His greatness, as the little silkworm is
enveloped in its cocoon. Understand that when I say ‘you will see God,’ I mean
in the manner described, in which He manifests Himself in this kind of union.
6.
Now let us see what becomes of the ‘silkworm,’ for all I have been saying leads
to this. As soon as, by means of this prayer, the soul has become entirely dead
to the world, it comes forth like a lovely little white butterfly!176 Oh, how great God is! How beautiful is the
soul after having been immersed in God’s grandeur and united closely to Him for
but a short time! Indeed, I do not think it is ever as long as half an hour.177 Truly, the spirit does not recognize itself,
being as different from what it was as is the white butterfly from the
repulsive caterpillar. It does not know how it can have merited so great a
good, or rather, whence this grace came178 which it well knows it merits not. The soul
desires to praise our Lord God and longs to sacrifice itself and die a thousand
deaths for Him. It feels an unconquerable desire for great 133crosses
and would like to perform the most severe penances; it sighs for solitude and
would have all men know God, while it is bitterly grieved at seeing them offend
Him. These matters will be described more fully in the next mansion; there they
are of the same nature, yet in a more advanced state the effects are far
stronger, because, as I told you, if; after the soul has received these
favours, it strives to make still farther progress, it will experience great
things. Oh, to see the restlessness of this charming little butterfly, although
never in its life has it been more tranquil and at peace! May God be praised!
It knows not where to stay nor take its rest; everything on earth disgusts it
after what it has experienced, particularly when God has often given it this
wine which leaves fresh graces behind it at every draught.
7.
It despises the work it did while yet a caterpillar—the slow weaving of its
cocoon thread by thread—its wings have grown and it can fly; could it be
content to crawl? All that it can do for God seems nothing to the soul compared
with its desire. It no longer wonders at what the saints bore for Him, knowing
by experience how our Lord aids and transforms the soul until it no longer
seems the same in character and appearance. Formerly it feared penance, now it
is strong: it wanted courage to forsake relations, friends, or possessions:
neither its actions, its resolutions, nor separation from those it loved could
detach the soul, but rather seemed to increase its fondness. Now it finds even
their rightful claims a burden,179 fearing contact with 134them
lest it should offend God. It wearies of everything, realizing that no true
rest can be found in creatures.
8.
I seem to have enlarged on this subject, yet far more might be said about it;
those who have received this favour will think I have treated it too briefly.
No wonder this pretty butterfly, estranged from earthly things, seeks repose
elsewhere. Where can the poor little creature go? It cannot return to whence it
came, for as I told you, that is not in the soul’s power, do what it will, but
depends upon God’s pleasure. Alas, what fresh trials begin to afflict the mind!
Who would expect this after such a sublime grace?180 In fact in one way or another we must carry
the cross all our lives. If people told me that ever since attaining to the
prayer of union they had enjoyed constant peace and consolation, I should reply
that they could never have reached that state, but that, at the most, if they
had arrived as far as the last mansion, their emotion must have been some
spiritual satisfaction joined to physical debility. It might even have been a
false sweetness caused by the devil, who gives peace for a time only to wage
far fiercer war later on. I do not mean that those who reach this stage possess
no peace; they do so in a very high degree, for their sorrows, though extremely
severe, are so beneficial and proceed from so good a source as to procure both
peace and happiness.
9.
Discontent with this world gives such a painful longing to quit it that, if the
heart finds comfort, 135it
is solely from the thought that God wishes it to remain here in banishment.
Even this is not enough to reconcile it to fate, for after all the gifts
received, it is not yet so entirely surrendered to the will of God as it
afterwards becomes. Here, although conformed to His will, the soul feels an
unconquerable reluctance to submit, for our Lord has not given it higher grace.
During prayer this grief breaks forth in floods of tears, probably from the
great pain felt at seeing God offended and at thinking how many souls, both
heretics and heathens, are lost eternally, and keenest grief of all, Christians
also! The soul realizes the greatness of God’s mercy and knows that however
wicked men are, they may still repent and be saved; yet it fears that many
precipitate themselves into hell.
10.
Oh, infinite greatness of God! A few years ago—indeed, perhaps but a few
days—this soul thought of nothing but itself. Who has made it feel such
tormenting cares? If we tried for many years to obtain such sorrow by means of
meditation, we could not succeed.
11.
God help me! If for long days and years I considered how great a wrong it is
that God should be offended, and that lost souls are His children and my
brethren; if I pondered over the dangers of this world and how blessed it would
be to leave this wretched life, would not that suffice? No, daughters, the pain
would not be the same. for this, by the help of God, we can obtain by such
meditation; but it does not seem to penetrate the very depths of our being like
the other which 136appears
to cut the soul to pieces and grind it to powder through no action—even
sometimes with no wish—of its own. What is this sorrow, then? Whence does it
come? I will tell you. Have you not heard (I quoted the words to you just now,
but did not apply to them this meaning)181 how the Bride says that God ‘brought her into
the cellar of wine and set in order charity in her’?182 This is what happens here. The soul has so
entirely yielded itself into His hands and is so subdued by love for Him that
it knows or cares for nothing but that God should dispose of it according to
His will. I believe that He only bestows this grace on those He takes entirely
for His own. He desires that, without knowing how, the spirit should come forth
stamped with His seal for indeed it does no more than does the wax when
impressed with the signet. It does not mould itself but need only be in a fit
condition—soft and pliable; even then it does not soften itself but must
merely remain still and submit to the impression.
12.
How good Thou art, O God! All is done for us by Thee, Who dost but ask us to
give our wills to Thee that we may be plastic as wax in Thy hands. You see,
sisters, what God does to this soul so that it may know that it is His. He
gives it something of His own—that which His Son possessed when living on
earth—He could bestow on greater gift on us. Who could ever have longed more
eagerly to leave this life than did Christ? 137 As He said at the Last Supper: ‘With
desire have I desired’183 this. O Lord! does not that bitter death Thou
art to undergo present itself before Thine eyes in all its pain and horror?
’No, for My ardent love and My desire to save souls are immeasurably stronger
than the torments. This deeper sorrow I have suffered and still suffer while
living here on earth, makes other pain seem as nothing in comparison.’
13.
I have often meditated on this and I know that the torture a friend of mine184 has felt, and still feels, at seeing our Lord
sinned against is so unbearable that she would far rather die than continue in
such anguish. Then I thought that if a soul whose charity is so weak compared
to that of Christ—indeed, in comparison with His this charity might be said
not to exist—experiences this insufferable grief, what must have been the feelings
of our Lord Jesus Christ and what must His life have been? for all things were
present before His eyes and He was the constant witness of the great offences
committed against His Father. I believe without doubt that this pained Him far
more than His most sacred Passion. There, at least, He found the end of all His
trials, while His agony was allayed by the consolation of gaining our salvation
through His death and of proving how He loved His Father by suffering for Him.
Thus, people who, urged by fervent love, perform great penances 138hardly
feel them but want to do still more and count even that as little. What, then,
must His Majesty have felt at thus publicly manifesting His perfect obedience
to His Father and His love for His brethren? What joy to suffer in doing God’s
will! Yet I think the constant sight of the many sins committed against God and
of the numberless souls on their way to hell must have caused Him such anguish
that, had He not been more than man, one day of such torment would have
destroyed not only His life but many more lives, had they been His.